


Lionhearted Lady and her Knight

by LiquidLuckMyLove



Series: Hope Springs Eternal [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Economics and Political Science, F/M, Fem jon snow, Female Jon Snow, Jaime Lannister is a beautiful idiot, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Lyarra just wants to know what the hell is going on, Multi, Part one of three, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Soulmates in the most loose of terms really, Tyrion Lannister Ships It, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, Tywin just wants heirs and spares, Whiskey its own character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:41:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLuckMyLove/pseuds/LiquidLuckMyLove
Summary: Visenya Targaryen and Jaime Lannister are bound by the gods to each other to write past wrongs done by their Houses to the realm, to their families, and to themselves. However, gods rarely make redemption easy or convenient. Yet, if successful they will rise to find glory in the Spring.Also known as the tale of a righteous not-so-royal and her boy-toy peppered with commentary by the Dashing Dwarf of the West, the Princess of the East, the Castellan of the Realm, the Bastard of the Hills, the Lady of the North, The Master of War, and the Head of the Queen's Guard.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Madrigal_in_training](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madrigal_in_training/gifts), [Author376](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Author376/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mark of Conciliation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159682) by [Madrigal_in_training](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madrigal_in_training/pseuds/Madrigal_in_training). 



> Hello lovely readers! 
> 
> I have been a big fan of fanfiction and some of the best that i have read have been in the GoT/AsoIaF respectively. To cope with the disaster that was the bum-rushed season 8 of the series, I decided to finally try my hand at my favourite two fan fiction tropes Soulmarks and gender bending. 
> 
> However it would be remiss and utter daft of me not to mention some of the greatest writers that have done EXTRAORDINARY works with Fem Jon and Soulmarks - Madrigal_in_training and Author376. Hence, I gift this work to both. Truly, go read Mark of Conciliation and Bequeathed from Pale Estates, JaimexFemJon and OberynXFemJon. Both seminal pieces of the genre and truly masterpieces that you SHOULD READ BEFORE MINE. 
> 
> Many thanks and hope you enjoy.

There was a light summer snow raining gently down on Bear Island the morning Lyarra Snow woke up with her forearm burning fiercely. 

The girl of six and ten hissed and grabbed the offending appendage in pain and quickly rubbed the skin, as if to scrub the pain away. It ached less than when she was sparring with live steel with Dacey or Alysane, but it certainly stung similarly to a scraped knee or raw wound. When Lyarra looked down there was nothing particularly notable on her right arm, only splotches of deep red and yellow. However, before she could continue to examine what Snow thought might be some odd bruise, her foster sister and dear friend Dacey Mormont burst through her door. 

“Arise Lyarra for duty calls!” Dacey called out in a dramatic flare

At nine and ten, the heir in question was tall and lanky like a willow tree and just as firm and flexible. Her brown hair was tied in a northern style braid and surprisingly for Lyarra, Dacey was in a nice green dress with bear motifs, befitting her station but short enough that you could see her boots underneath. Certainly a hand-me-down from Lady Lynesse’s old clothes. A cheeky smile graced her face, pulling on her various freckles and showing Lyarra the gap between her two front teeth - which worried the girl greatly. When Dacey smiled trouble usually followed in one way or another, Snow had the various scars to prove it. However, when her friend’s keen brown eyes looked down at Lyarra’s arm, her smile fell in worry. 

“Why don’t you look nice? Has Maester Rolf finally convinced Maege to sell you off to the highest bidder?” snarked Lyarra before her friend could get a word in - trying to deflect attention from the odd colored bruise. It was a running joke between the Mormonts and Snow, it seemed the only thing the acolyte of the Citadel cared for was marrying off the she-bears. It worked, as Dacey continued on without pressing on her concern.

“Ha! The old rat-faced fucker wishes, however he will be happy to see some of his match making in action. House Glover is here, are you ready to see your darling Galbart again?” replied Dacey while walking into the quarters with ease. For how much she loathed dresses, Lyarra had to admit Dacey had a natural grace in them and seemed as comfortable in feminine wear as her fighting leathers. 

“I thought they were coming in a week! How did they get here so quickly?” Lyarra questioned in an exasperated tone as she got up to get ready. First putting on breaches for under her dress, a tendency she adopted while  here on Bear Island. You never know when the Ironborn will strike.

“Seems the Burley clan backed-out from the trade talks they had scheduled before us. Apparently they heard that Glover had proposed a similar trade deal to the Wull’s, which set the whole trade talk up in flames.” said Dacey as she help Lyarra into her gown.

“Lord Glover can be such a fool sometimes, for how close he is to the Mountain Clans you would think he would know not to go talking to Wulls if the Burley’s are concerned.” 

“I think Old Gabart never truly wanted the Burley deal to begin with and was looking for a way to attract the Wull to consider his offer. Anyway, you got the numbers ready Snow?” Dacey said as she pulled the strings tighter on her bodice.

Lyarra choked out “That makes sense and yes, certainly. If I had a bit more time I would have looked them over once more.”  

Dacey snorted, turned Snow around and grabbed her shoulders, ”It will be fine, your numbers are always impeccable. Stop overthinking, this trade meeting is not of serious import.” Then patted her cheek for good measure. “I’m pretty Lord Glover will be happy with anything we give him, so long as you are in the room.”

The bastard of House Stark had always been excellent at numbers. So much so, that Maester Luwin at Winterfell started giving her tasks to help him from an early age - something that truly did not amuse Lady Stark at the time. However, it did give her quite the reputation in the North. 

As a little girl the start of Lyarra’s fascination with coinage came more from the wonder of the shiny nature of currency - it was just an added bonus that the small round chunks that reflected light were valuable and also great for honing the mind. As much as Snow loved swordplay and riding, her love has always been more in the realm of books and from a young age she realized that book keeping was deemed too lowly for most lords but too complicated for common folk. Only Maesters, castellans, and prolific merchants bothered to really master the complicated nature of economics and trade. So Lyarra soon found her niche, a role perfect for a highborn bastard in her mind. 

“Yes, ha ha. Lord Glover asking for help with barley profits is the height of romance.” Lyarra responded to Dacey’s sly remark while picking up from her small desk the books and paperwork needed for the meeting. Her arm still ached so she handed her companion the heavier of the tomes. 

Hence, when she came a foster to Bear Island at the tender age of ten, Lady Mormont looked at her enthusiasm with pleasure and gladly let her dive in and help the old maester out. Especially needed after the farce of a second marriage and blight her nephew Jorah put on the small Island’s coffers. Because of Lyarra’s help, in just four years House Mormont had regained all revenue lost and was starting to heap a profit off of trade.

“For you it well may be romantic.” 

Rolling her eyes, Lyarra responded, “Regardless, we will be starving if we don’t break fast soon.”

“Ah yes, little Jory really does live up to the she-bear moniker when it comes to food. Bet I can steal a biscuit with minimal bit marks” Dacey japed with a smirk

Giggling back the bastard placed her own bet, “10 groat she aims for the fingers” 

\--- 

As expected when both Lyarra and Dacey walked into the great hall, the room was full of raucous bickering and laughter. Meage at the center and head of the table had her youngest, tiny 6 year-old Lyanna, on her lap and was chatting with her second oldest, Alysanne to her right. The young woman in question was six and ten, and out of all her sisters looked the most like her mother with her stout height, muscular frame, and being big of breast. Alysanne liked to poke fun at Dacey when she can saying ‘you got all the height but I took all the bosom back!’. Apart from being the comic of  the Mormont clan, she was also the one responsible for the production of the new alcoholic drink sweeping the North - Mormont Whiskey.

It was obvious that important trade talks were upon Bear Island since all the Mormont women were dressed in their finest northern garb. If Lord Glover refused to sell them a quarter of his barley crops, they would have to haggle with Lady Dustin and the whiskey’s steady pace of production would hit a decline. 

They would also save themselves a headache by avoiding treating with Barrowtown and it’s caustic, bitter lady. 

On the other side of Maege at ten was the knobby-kneed Jorelle, hoarding biscuits and jam, dressed in one of Lyarra’s old blue dresses but with one of the legs hiked up on the bench, you could clearly see her breeches underneath.  

“Your feet should stay on the floor Jory!” her sister Lyra exclaimed, at two and ten she was in the stage of life where everything and everyone annoyed her, especially her younger siblings. Lyra was the Mormont sister that desired to play the role of a more traditional lady, however, you would be hard pressed to find her without a dagger hidden somewhere on her at all times. 

“You are incorrect, I can put it on you instead” Jorelle replied at the same time that she lifted her foot to show it to her sister in front of her. However, Maege put a stop to it.

“Stop! Jorelle get your foot out of ya’ sisters face. Lyra the way you say words matter as much as what you mean. Be nice to your sister.” In one fell swoop Maege effectively doused an on-coming fight and proceeded to hand her youngest to Alysanne. Then looked at the oldest with her ward in tow and with a small smile gestured both to sit in the two spaces on the right of Lyra. 

In moments like these Lyarra was reminded of how lucky she was to foster with the Mormont Clan. As much as she loved and missed Winterfell, especially the comforting presence of her father and the exuberant energy of most of her half-siblings, the looming shadow of judgment cast on her by Lady Stark was too much for the young woman to bear. The Mormonts did not mind her bastardy and had always accepted their ward’s passions. Lyarra always feels free and loved by these women and she hopes to always return that in any way she can. 

As Lyarra handed Maege one of the books detailing her recommended strategy, Alysanne commented “By the size of those ledgers it makes me think you have mapped out the next 100 years of trade between us and House Glover!” 

“Nah, it seems she capped herself at ten this time. You should say your thanks Alys - if this goes according to plan you’ll have enough barley to make whiskey for the rest of your life.” Maege responded not looking up from the notes she had started to read. 

“With all the trial and error that it takes not to taste like piss, 10 years worth of grain will last her a measly fortnight!” Dacey quipped, grinning. 

“Not my fault your tastes are as underdeveloped as Lyanna’s.” Alysanne said gruffly back at her older sister, prompting a “Hey!” from the child in question from her lap. “But yes, thank you Lyarra, we greatly appreciate it.” 

“Don’t insult Lyanna that way. She has the best taste here.” prompting a jam filled smile from the girl. “Can you please pass me the blackberry jam, Lyanna dear?”

Lyarra winked a thanks and grabbed the small jar from the girl’s equally small hand when her own spasms. The intense pain from her arm came back in full force and was such that her hand with the jar hit the wooden table, shattering it in her hand. Jam splattered everywhere and the palm of her hand started to bleed out red. A cacophony of sounds  erupted around her. 

“I’m sorry!” said Lyanna on the verge of tears.

“Lya are you alright!?”  exclaimed Jorelle and Lyra in unison. 

“It’s not your fault Lyanna - Dacey try to take the biggest shards out of her hand.” responded Alysanne, taking a napkin and trying to clean up the mess in conjunction with a pair of servants. 

“Lyra! Jorelle! Go and get Maester Rolf. Tell him he might have to give some stitches.” Said Maege to her third and fourth child as she stood up to go behind her ward. 

“It will be alright Lyarra, just breath in and out. I know you can deal with pain better than most southron knights.” consoled Dacey in a soothing voice, trying to keep her calm as she pulled the biggest glass shards out of her friend’s hands. 

“I’m sorry Lady Mormont - I don’t know what got into me. I woke up with this pain that won’t -ah- subside in my arm” Lyarra made out with tears in her eyes from both the stinging pain of her hand mixed with the odd burning of her forearm.

“None of that Lady Mormont horseshit - you aren’t with Lady Stark and you did nothing wrong. Just show me your arm and where it hurts ” Maege ordered as she knelt down and grabbed the arm from Dacey, pulling back Lyarra’s sleeve. 

Then suddenly it seemed like everybody was frozen, staring at Lyarra’s arm. The usual raucous dissonance that permeated Mormont Keep was overcome with silence, in that moment, only the light snow and sea breeze hitting the windows made a sound. 

On her arm,  unmistakable, was the Lannister Lion, roaring perched on a white cloak and red banner. The lion was gold, resplendent, and proud. Not even the blood dripping down from her cut could mar the mark on Lyarra’s left forearm. It seemed like the gods, old and new, had decided that Lyarra Snow of House Stark was to bind the North and the Westernlands for the first time. 

Maege was the first to react, standing up, and saying “What you all saw stays in these halls until our Warden Lord Stark of Winterfell informs us otherwise. This matter is bigger than many of you have ever witnessed and secrecy is paramount, any loose lips will be dealt with by me personally.” Looking back down and Lyarra in the eyes, she finished, “I will write to your father post-haste and he will know how to handle this.” 

Little did those words do to reassure Lyarra Snow of what fate had in store for her.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back, back, back again. Thank you for all the wonderful comments and the kudos! Made me want to pump out this chapter as soon as I could. Aiming for a week or two between updates, but we shall see. 
> 
> I do intend to make the chapters a bit longer moving forward but this contains a lot of important context that I think it should be digested on it's own. 
> 
> Also, I am un-beta'd so any mistakes are all on my own. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

The heart tree in the middle of the Godswood on Bear Island was vastly different than the one at Winterfell. Instead of one solid weirwood tree, it was two weirwoods that had grown together and become intertwined, lifting up the base and creating a canopy. Local legends say that because of the odd shape, the Children of the Forest decided to carve two weeping faces facing each other instead of one. The tragic lovers, locals called it, since they are intertwined together but never to kiss or be truly whole. 

As pious as Lyarra was, she found no solace in the heart tree and found only more mocking and irony in her current circumstances. But alas, here she was brooding under it, avoiding everyone, and praying to any and all known gods to will the damned mark away from her flesh. 

Snow had always known she had to marry at some point, soon even, since she had started her moon blood a few moons prior. As much as the older Mormont girls teased her for, as they perceived it, being dense when it came to matters of the heart, everything since she was ten was all meticulously calculated like her book keeping.  _ Of course _ , Lyarra knew Galbart had an interest in her and she also knew that her work in turning the Mormont coffers around made her an attractive candidate to  _ all  _ Northern Houses - regardless of her bastard status. It also didn’t hurt that she was considered to be easy on the eyes and have Stark blood. However, as a bastard could never  _ seem  _ like she knew what she was doing - the appearance of naivete gave her the freedom of underestimation. 

_ Well in most cases,  _ the bastard thought to herself.

Lyarra Snow vividly remembers the night before coming to Bear Island. It was storming and the thunder mixed with the growing emotions boiling inside her had kept her awake that night but it was still startling to see the door of her small bedroom swing open. With a small lantern in hand Lady Stark looked like the harbinger of death that night. Her face pale, her eyes bloodshot, and wine staining her breath. She remembers being grabbed by Catelyn by the very same forearm that now graced the Lannister Lion. She also remembers the pain she felt as her half-siblings’ mother’s fingernails dug into her skin. However, it was her words that stung the most and marked her forever. 

“ _ I’ll let you know bastard that I hope you enjoy your time with those savage women. Because as long as I live, you will never set foot in Winterfell again. Mercy will be you getting snatched up by wildings or raped by Ironborn - for what I will have in store if you ever try to seduce my sons or take from my daughters will be a hundred fold worse. You will never be a Stark, you will never by a true Lady, you will always be just a nameless bastard.”  _

The following morning she left with Lady Meage between tight hugs from most of her siblings, tears from Arya and growing sniffles from Robb the most pronounced of the bunch, and the comforting shoulder squeeze from her father. Lady Stark, for the first time since she could remember, looked her in the eyes and gave her a knowing smile. 

At ten she vowed she would at least prove Lady Stark wrong in her own way, Lyarra would make a name for herself, she would become a true  _ Northern  _ Lady, and she would be known as Stark in all but name. Snow was well on her way to proving her wrong too, all of her lessons and trousseau were geared towards the Northern way and to the benefit of all the people under the Stark rule. All that she needed to do was marry a loyal lord and serve his people to the best of her abilities. 

However, now that whole plan went up in flames - she has to do what all bastards and smallfolk alike do all that time. Re-adjust. 

\---

“- I would even say that some of the most prolific political unions have started as marriage alliances from warring factions. Your impending marriage to House Lannister - most likely - will probably be beneficial to establishing a relationship between the Westerlands and the North that has been, pun very intended, frosty a best. I can’t think of any notable alliance made in recent years and this would be a great opportunity to defend against another uprising of the Ironborn.” 

Lyarra didn’t know whether to groan, pull her hair out, or scream. 

Currently she was stuck in Mormont Keep’s library listening to Maester Rolf wax poetic about the notable marriages and the historic consequences that these have had for the prosperity of the Seven Kingdoms. In any other context Lyarra would relish time in the library and would be attentively listening to the small Maester. However, the circumstances that put her in what is her favorite place in the known-world sours the usual sweet experience. 

Shortly after the incident in the Great Hall at breakfast, Maege forbid her from attending the trade meeting with House Glover and sent her to Maester Rolf instead to get stitched up. In the moment she appreciated the reprieve, as much as she worked on the ledgers and was looking forward to seeing if the deal went through, Lyarra felt emotionally like she was knocked around the training yard for five hours straight and the Maester did little to help. 

After he quickly patched her up Maester Rolf had insisted that once Snow had taken some time to digest the situation, that she come with him. He had dragged her to the library and insisted they go through a comprehensive history of Soulmarks. It was not a coincidence that the Citadel named Rolf to Mormont Keep - he was the foremost scholar in soulmarks and marriages. However, Maege and the rest of her brood did not really care much for whatever possible “potential” a marriage might bring to House Mormont and concentrated more in re-establishing the coffers that were neglected by Ser Jorah. However, his time had finally come to aid them in a prosperous marriage, not via any of the Mormont girls like expected but a soulmark, which was even better in his book. 

“Maester Rolf, as much as I appreciate all your help and enthusiasm, it was just two days ago that I found out I have a soulmark. As the foremost man of the scripture on such would you be so kind as to concentrate on that? You and I both know I have a lot of catching up on Westerland histories and the Seven, hence could you possibly give the abridged version?” Lyarra said in the most polite way she could muster at the moment. She liked the small man and usually would indulge him in his ramblings, god knows she is the only one in the castle who does, but Lyarra was in a limited time frame and the fact that the results of talks with House Glover would be given to her soon did not help her already sour mood. 

“Ah yes, yes. Sorry about that young lady - that reminds me that I pulled out some key readings on House Lannister and the Westerlands. You, girl!” snapping and waving to one of the nearby servants cleaning the library and handed her the heavy books. “Put these in Lady Lyarra’s room for her will you?” 

Before the girl could take her leave Lyarra put in a final “Thanks Poppy, we really appreciate it - if you haven’t taken a lunch break please do so after” 

Poppy gave her a wink in gratitude and left. It was not uncommon for Lyarra to give her courtesies to the servants and smallfolk alike. As a bastard under Lady Stark’s southron reign, she knew how easy it was for people not to see you as a person. Hence, she was a big proponent of treating everyone with respect and this was quickly adopted by  _ most  _ of the fellow Highborn in the castle as well. 

Maester Rolf, finally sat down in front of her, his usually the erratic eyes that flitted around the room looked at Lyarra dead in her own. He was in his element and he had the confidence of a warrior in battle. 

“Right well, on to Soulmarks” Rolf said as he rubbed his bony hands together “There is a reason that Soulmarks, or as they are referred to in the South, ‘the Maiden’s Markings’, are not taught regularly and are often relegated to fairy stories. The most recent one in our history is Jaehaerys and Alysanne, and people claim that Florian and Jonquil came before them. They’re extremely uncommon phenomenon that trace back to even before the founding of Valyria and they’re found all over the world. Because of their ancient nature all of the various races of men have differing notions of how and why they appear.” He pulled out a sheet of parchment that compared the First Men, Andal, Rhoynar, and Ironborn beliefs on Soul Marks.

“The Rhoynar beliefs follows that of the Seven. There are some texts about soul markings before mixing with Andals, however, they are few and far between. Many suspected they were intentionally lost.” 

Pointing at the Andal’s “The Andals belief is tied directly to the Faith of the Seven. In the Seven Pointed-Star it says that the Maiden gave Hugor of the Hill and his wife a mark that would bind their souls together. The rest of the Seven followed suit, the Father then judged both of their Houses as one, the Mother blessed the union with many a strong son, the Warrior imbued the pair with his protection, the Smith pledged that they would always be able to provide, the Crone saw many a great thing in their future, and the Stranger made sure they would never live apart.” 

He continued, “You may be most familiar with that of the First Men. The Children of the Forest as messengers of the Old Gods summoned markings on a pair that would bring about change and strong children. Your ancestor Bran the Builder was said to be a product of a Soulmark union.” 

Rolf then reached for her forearm where the mark laid “May I?” 

“Certainly.” responded Lyarra, pulling her sleeve back and laying her arm in his opened hand. 

Trailing his finger on the Lannister Lion he said “As you can see no one can agree how they first appeared and what they are really meant to be. Yet three things have always remained true from my observations. The first is that the gods, all the many in the known world, have a specific reason to unite two people. Second lies in godly ramifications that will happen to either punish or reward those that seek to prematurely stop what the gods want each person to accomplish together.” the Maester takes a deep breath “ Third, the pair will not be able to survive without the other until both of their duties to the gods are done.” 

“So I am now a big walking target?” Lyarra said drily.  _ Great, my fate is in the hands of a Lannister.  _

“No...and yes. Most, if not all cultures and civilized peoples fear the retribution of the gods in harming any of the intended pair. Yet, there have been individuals who fear what the pair might bring in their union and seek to defy the will of the gods.” Maester Rolf said as he put her arm back down on the table, rolled her sleeve down, and patted her hand. 

“You are tied to two of the most powerful Houses in Westeros now. I am certain you are the safest person in the world.” a chuckled followed. “Do not lose sleep over that aspect Lyarra.” 

Feeling both fearful and oddly reassured, the bastard in question leaned back in her chair. But before she could get too comfortable with her thoughts. A young man she had been teaching to read that works in the raverny called Edd came rushing in. 

“Sorry M’aster, M’Lady Maege said I had to give this to Lya at once,” he said while looking at the Maester but handing the small strip of parchment to Snow. Odd, Edd usually told her the correspondence anyway when their lessons rolled around. She knew this would be important then. 

“Understood but no running in the Library! This is a sacred place of learning --” Rolf started a rant with a grumble, but Lyarra tuned him out as she read: 

 

**_Lady Mormont,_ **

 

**_Thank you for your swift raven, but I already knew. Expect House Stark and company at Bear Island in one moon’s time. Prepare your ports for House Lannister as well. Both will send over enough money to prepare for a Wedding._ **

 

 

**_\- Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North_ **

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! Thank you for your patience, had a bit of a writers block with this one but now I am back on track - hopefully I will have the next instalment by Sunday or Monday with a better chapter since I am not sold on this one. Three things I want to address: 
> 
> 1) I want y'all to keep in mind that Lyarra/Visenya is very much 16. That means as smart as she is, which she truly is, she is an emotional and unreliable narrator when it comes to certain people. Hopefully you guys stick around to see her growth. 
> 
> 2) Jaime and the Lannister will be appearing in Chapter 5 and the Starks next Chapter. We will have a Jaime POV soon. 
> 
> 3) This is approximately two years (give and take) before the GoT events. 
> 
> Anyways ~ thanks and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Snow could feel the curious stares on her forearm as she finagled in the market, but that had become a common feeling as of late and she suspects it will remain for the rest of her life. 

It had been about three weeks since Bear Island had started it’s wedding preparations. It had also been years since a major wedding had taken place and the townsfolk did not remember fondly last time they had to prepare the castle for such an event. However, once they found out that not only would it be Lyarra’s nuptials but extra gold dragons were being sent by both House Stark and House Lannister to soften the blow, they were much more pleased with the goings on.

Yet, for many of the peasantry it was a bittersweet moment. The bastard of House Stark came in a trying time and completely reinvigorated the Island and trade in a way that filled their bellies and warmed their hearths - and she did it not moved by pity or piety but because it made sense to treat them as people. Truly as much as the servants and smallfolk will always be loyal to House Mormont (always), Lyarra Snow’s unwavering belief that every person mattered had garnered her a reverence in life most only garnered in death. So much so, that her reputation had started spreading around in the North and even to some other parts of Westeros. Hence, they were elated that such a kind and generous lady was making a good match but none really wanted to see her part to so far away.  

Lyarra always felt humbled and flattered that the people on the Isle had embraced and trusted her so but with that trust came a lot of candor of their feelings on her impending marriage. 

“I just don’t trust those yellow haired runts Lady Lya, in my years trading with them they think they are better than us and that’s not something me or Jen want you to be around. You are too good for them.” Thom, a short portly man with a jarringly high voice told her one afternoon. He was a textile merchant that specialized in northern leathers and wool, because of his trade he had travelled through the western coast of Westeros and has been a wealth of knowledge on the area for her. His wife had been a great help as well, since she was one of the only seamstresses that worked at all with Southron styles. He was currently insisting on her taking some silks and patterns Thom claimed were favored in the Westerlands. 

“Oh Thom, you know there is nothing I desire more than to stay on Bear Island but the gods make demands and we pay the price.” Lyarra replied while trying to hand the man a few silver stags “In the vein of prices and paying, please accept this is for all of your help. I know Jen does not believe in my ‘pity money’ but this is just the best way I know to give thanks”

“Nah’” Thom, with a shit-eating grin said as he shut her fist closed and refused, “I agree with her.”  He then loaded her arms with silks, broacades, and different kinds of lace making the pile bigger and effectively blocking her hand full of silver. 

“Lya!” shouted Jorelle, to the woman of the hour. Snow turned with her small mountain of cloth towards her foster sister. “Lyra wants you to come and see the dresses she and Jen have been working on.” 

“Well hello Jory, as you can see I was heading there just after finishing with Thom. Here help me with these.” Lyarra handed the small girl a third of the pile “Make sure the fabrics don’t drag and I’ll just pay Thom quick before we head to them.” However, when she turned around the stall was closed and the man in question was nowhere to be found. Which made the bastard slip an unlady-like “Fuck,” under her breath.

Jorelle snorted a laugh and said “Maybe you’ll have some luck slipping some onto Jen.” 

“Doubt it, I tried already and received a dressing down for the ages” Lyarra giggled to herself “Pun very intended,” as the younger girl groaned and started the short walk back to the Keep. 

“Apart from my unappreciated comedic nuances, how was your first class alone?” For the last two years Lyarra had taught local children and some adult residents of Bear Island how to read. It had all started as weekly storytelling and as time passed she realized that increased literacy among the general population promoted independence and greater opportunities for trade. Hence, with Maege’s approval, the bastard set up two classes every week, one for children, structured similarly to lessons highborn folk receive. Then another for merchants, traders, and other working folk more concentrated on jargon related to specific crafts and skills. Jorelle, the resident bookworm of the Mormont women, had joined Lyarra as an apprentice. As the older girl’s impending marriage and departure approached, they had come to a consensus that it was time for the apprentice to become the master. 

“Better than expected, however, I was still very nervous and it took me a bit to get my bearings. Especially with the older group, they had a lot of questions about regional vocabulary for fishing trade which I was completely out of my depth with.” Jorelle paused as they both smiled at the guards at the keep’s entrance, “Yet I followed your notes and could maneuver the overall flow of the lessons in the end.” 

“That’s great Jory! I’m truly proud of you. Also give yourself some credit where it is due - I would have not known how to answer that question either.” Lyarra replied as they directed themselves to quarters that used to be Lady Lynesse’s, now dubbed the base of operations for all things Wedding related. 

“Yeah, I think they asked that to trip me up.” the younger girl replied in a small voice as they approached the door and continued in the meek tone  “...I know they much preferred to have you there than I”

Lyarra was shocked, she knew Jory to be a vibrant and self-assured girl, especially when it came to anything related to the acquisition of knowledge. She looked around the hall making sure that no one was in earshot, she knelt down in front of her foster-sister and said with all earnesty, “Jory, you are one of the brightest people I know, and because of that brilliant mind of yours, you tend to overthink. Now look at me in the eyes.” Lyarra said while clutching the pile of clothes in her arms even tighter and rearranging herself to Jorelle’s eye level. “By the time you are my age you will be twice the tutor than I will ever be. This is your passion, you were meant for this Jorelle.” 

“Really?” the Mormont girl questioned, uncertain but more hopeful..

“The others take me if I ever lie to you Jory.” Lyarra stood up and added “Let’s go in before your sister considers murder.” She walked over to the heavy wooden door and tried to push it open with her foot. Luckily Lyra opened it before the bastard appeared too ridiculous. 

“Amazing! Thom really outdid himself,” exclaimed the middle child of the Mormont clan, while she completely ignored both her foster and blood sister to grab the pile fabrics. “Greens, purples, pinks, and of course reds - ah he even included some gold and silver lace appliques! Jen it bears repeating, Thom has amazing taste.” 

Inside Lynesse’s old quarters was a seamstress wonderland, on the unused bed laid at least three different unfinished gowns. One was a classic Lannister red but it seemed to be cut in a Northern fashion, with a high collar and silver embroidery, another one was a lilac purple that seemed to be airy and high on the bust, the last one was the typical baby blue that she wore often. There were also piles of cut up dresses, ones from which threads and fabrics were repurposed. Initially Lyarra felt terrible that House Mormont were giving her  the expensive fabrics that were on hand, however, Maege had insisted that none of her daughters had any use of the Southern fabrics and her daughters tended to agree. Even Lyra, the resident seamstress preferred to work with leathers rather than with silks. 

“Well, he did marry me! If that doesn’t show good taste, I don’t know what does,” Jen was a thin woman with wide hips and boney hands, her hair was a healthy chestnut brown and when she smiled her cheeks dimpled. She and Thom had been married for 14 years and have had six children together - and the seventh was on its way. Two of her daughters were helping her out today, Twany and Twil, twins at one and ten and good friends with Lyra, and the bastard’s former students. 

“Oh Lyarra, you are going to love these and so will your future husband!” said Twil in a dreamy voice. 

“He might just faint at the craftsmanship alone,” Twany joked back, teasing her sisters tendency to daydream. 

“If a Lannister can even stop looking at themselves in the mirror long enough, than mayhaps. I heard from Vic that the men are prettier than most of the women here. Made him all confused in his pants - whatever than means.” said Lyra, parroting what Jen’s oldest son probably told her, with a few cups in by accident

“Why would he feel funny in his pants?” chimed in Jorelle from where she was laying on the bed organizing some of the fabrics. 

For damage control and to avoid having to have a very awkward conversation with her foster-sisters in front of everyone, Lyarra thought on her feet and responded with what Maege had told her at that age, “When boys get to a certain age they get stupid and think they feel things when but it’s probably just gas.”

Terrible Lyarra, just terrible - god I need to let Alysanne know to give the talk to Lyra. Gods know Dacey would just scar them for a laugh. 

“Bah! Stop listening to my son’s nonsense” Jen said playing it off but looking like she would beat her son when he got close enough to her. “So, Lyarra dear, what are we going to do for the wedding dress?” 

“Jen, you know I do not mind wearing a hand-me-down from the former Lady Mormont. From what I gathered from my brother Robb, there will be two ceremonies - one here with the Old Gods and ones with the New at Casterly Rock. I am sure the lions have another dress being made as we speak.” Lyarra grabbed a the older woman’s hand and squeezed. “You and yours have done so much already.”

“She’s being annoyingly humble again.” Lyra loudly whispered to Tawny.

“Hey! Then you are just annoying.” the older girl replied back.

“Let her have it Lya!” injected Jorelle, while Twil giggled at them,  
\----

After two hours or so of her foster sister extracting her revenge on Lyarra my shoving accidentally shoving pins in her behind. The bastard was headed to the Library where she was scheduled to meet the small Maester.

As she arrived she saw the small frame of the youngest of the Mormont Clan, hunched over a book almost as heavy as herself. A clear struggle painted on her face as she clutched her forest green dress and tried to read out the lines in front of her. 

“That is ‘p’ Lady Lyanna, not a ‘q’. Please concentrate, we have been over this.” the Maester instructed, frustrated at his young charge. 

“I try! I really do, it just jumbles up and I see it as I said.” replied the little girl while pounding her fist in a determined manner. 

Lyarra cleared her throat and had to bite her tongue from saying something rude to Rolf at that moment. They had previously discussed that Lyanna need a more patient approach for her development in reading. It was not that the girl was meerley simple, as many maesters would categorize her, it was that she simply needed a bit more time to digest the information in front of her. With a bit more patience and understanding from her instructor Lyarra was sure little Lyanna would flourish but impatience and visible frustration would just put her off on learning all together. And Lyarra would be damned if she at least try to make the people around her appreciate the wonder of a book. 

“Oh! Lady Lyarra, you are a tad early.” Rolf said in both a surprised and nervous manner, he knew that the bastard in question heard and did not appreciate how he was talking to her foster-sister. 

“I’m actually quite late. Lyanna, I imagine that your mother is in her study waiting for you. I think I heard her earlier, saying to some servants that she wanted you to go to her after your lessons.” She was actually a bit early to the agreed upon meeting, but it would serve Rolf right to sweat a bit thinking that Lyanna might complain to her mother. The little girl being more clever than most people expect was well aware what her foster-sister intended and looked back at her with a fiendish smile. 

“Well of course, I cannot leave until the great Maester let’s me.” Lyanna replied back in a sickly sweet tone. 

“Y-yes go, you can go.” 

Lyarra had to contain her laughter at how quickly Lyanna shot up and ran. But it quickly died as it started when she heard Rolf speak. 

“Well I see you finished all the reading I sent you. You spent more time on it than what I usually send you to browse,” the small man said regaining his confidence as he cleaned up the work table. 

Lyarra grimaced, “They weren't my usual readings really.” She sighed as she sat down and put her head in her hands as she griped at her former teacher “I have read each thrice and something just does not seem correct each time!” The bastard grabbed a piece of wayward parchment and the discarded quill Lyanna had left. 

“Care to explain?” Rolf queried,a bit amused at her frustration. 

“The last known recording of a Soul Pair appearing was with King Jaeherys and Queen Alysanne, before that it seems to have been a couple from the Riverlands that brought forth House Tully, and before that it was Princess Nymeria and her husband Mors Martell as they birthed a unified Dorne.” Lyarra said as she mapped out a timeline “Others in the in between were located in different parts of Essos - which we know not much about, but as you mention in The Guide to Soulmarks and Notable Pairings, we can infer that there is a notable marked pair that appear around the world once every  generation or so. Hence, it seems odd to me that the last known pair in Westeros was over 150 years ago! It just doesn’t make sense.” Lyarra explained while sighing, throwing the quill down, and leaning back in frustration. 

A little odd to not hear the Maester start rambling in a tone of superior satisfaction, born of having knowledge she knew not. Lyarra looked up and what she saw unnerved her. For the first time in her recollection, Rolf’s face was like a stone. Unreadable, unmovable, and truly terrifying as his gazed zeroed in on her observation. He suddenly took a breath, stood up, and as he did so, took the parchment, ripped it and threw it in the nearest hearth. 

“Hey!” exclaimed Snow offended. 

“Hush, follow me child.” Maester Rolf said in a voice above a whisper as he ushered her to the hallway and down to his quarters. “Swear to me this stays between us” 

“Well I would have to first know what we are doing, and honestly this is no--” 

“Swear it by all the known gods!” the Maester urged as he whirled around, robes akimbo and chains doing a light clinking sound as he moved, just in front of his doorway. 

“Yes, yes I do!” Lyarra swore, startled. She was thanking the gods she was currently in her training trousers as Rolf was surprisingly agile. As they both entered the room, Snow noticed how utterly small it felt, being that it was full of strewn about books and candles. For a man that was meticulously neat in the library, he was quite disorganized. Yet, her observations were cut short when she heard a crack and saw that the Maester had opened up an unassuming looking chest. He threw some stuff out on the floor, some old clothing, a sigil pin, and a wooden horse. All things that Lyarra gathered were from his life before the Citadel, in the Riverlands. 

“Aha!” Rolf exclaimed as he clutched a leather journal. “...I remember when you first came to Bear Island, Lady Lyarra, you were curious about everything and everyone. You asked so many questions that the servants would run the other way if they spotted you down the hall. However, I remember one question you asked me; “Why did you want to become a Maester?”.

“I remember - you never answered and made me write lines for the rest of the lesson.” Lyarra remarked reliving the cramp her hand had after that particular punishment. 

“Well, I didn’t answer because of this,” Rolf replied tapping the leather binding. “I was a bastard of House Whent - my mother was a washer woman who got tangled in the sheets with a member of a lower branch of the House. The Lady of Harrenhal felt pity for us and let us work for them and let me attend lessons with the rest of the children. However, as you know yourself, bastards are not the most popular of companions.” 

Lyarra suddenly felt a bit of shock at the revelation, she would have never guessed he had been a bastard and now a type of kinship towards the man bloomed in her. However, as she recalled most of her interactions with the maester over the last four years she realized that, even if he was quite uppity, he never had treated her any less than her trueborn counterparts. Probably the exact opposite, he seemed to give her a bit of leeway compared to her foster-sisters. 

“I never wanted to be a maester. No, not at all. I wanted to be a knight! To prove myself in battle and make my bullies pay for their japes - make something of myself, rather than being just a bastard. However, as you can see, I am not really built for battle, but I tried and trained on my own to maybe attract a knight to squire me. In one incident of the self-proclaimed training, I was roaming around the crypts of Harrenhal, hauling rocks from one of the decaying tower rooms. In there a found a chest marked by the Targaryen three headed dragon. After I read this right here, I decided to change the course of action I’d previously planned, and dedicate my life to deciphering soulmarks instead.” Rolf then, with his two thin hands gave Lyarra the book. Yet, upon further inspection she saw it was not a book at all, but a journal. 

‘Property of Prince Duncan of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne’

The breath seemed to be knocked out of her, but Snow still made out, “Maester...this is priceless.”

“And a secret that could have both of our heads. You are correct, there are some couples that have been omitted by the Citadel from the book of Soul Pairs. This holds some of the answers you seek, but share this with no one, not even your bonded.” Rolf emphasized grabbing Lyarra by the hand and clutching it. 

The Bastard of Winterfell understood, this type of information could piss off both former loyalist houses and the houses loyal to Baratheon, and that’s without taking into consideration that she is headed to the literal Lion’s den where the Queen Consort’s family resides. No, this is a secret she will keep. 

Lyarra chuckles wistfully, “Aren’t I lucky then, to have been fostered in the same place as you maester?”

“No child, there is no such thing as luck in our world - only fate and what the gods decide for us”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry! Sorry for the long wait, I do intend to keep a bi-weekly schedule from now on. I just had a doozy of a month and a half. However, I am back baby. For the long wait I made this chapter a bit longer and the rest should follow that trend.
> 
> Another thing - this part 1 will be mostly Lyarra centric (there will be a denotation when Lyarra becomes Visenya) and a bit of Jaime. I want you, the reader, to become familiar with the main character than dive into other more established fan favorites. However, for every 5 chapters there will be a Jaime POV. 
> 
> On to the STARKS!

Lyarra Snow should have been sleeping, as her family and notable Northern Houses were coming in the morn and the dawn was rapidly approaching. However, from memorizing the schedules of the inhabitants of Mormont Keep, these silent moments before the day started and everyone in the castle slept was her chance to start reading Prince Duncan’s journal. 

_ I woke up with a burning sensation on the underside of my forearm today, but, thinking it a bruise from Daeron’s prank from two day ago, (my brother has become quite enchanted with fire lately) I kept on with my day.  _

_ However, as the day progressed it just got worse. Then It all went to shit when I was meeting with my father to discuss the betterment of the infrastructure routes between the Gold Road and the Rose Road. As I was jotting down some notes from our discussion, (I’ll go into finer detail later on my plans to convince House Lannister and House Tyrell to pay for the construction so we can avoid dipping into the Royal coffers.)  _

The curious bastard took a pause on that statement, found the page where he did map out his strategy, then bookmarked the page to read later. 

_     My arm went numb, toppling over the ink all on top of  the various parchments we had accumulated in the lengthy meeting. However, my father did not much care for the pieces of paper, (in my opinion my arm costs less than a year’s worth of  the policy planning I had concocted) and called the Grand Maester Luthor to help out. _

_ When the maester cut the sleeve where it hurt, instead of the burn scar I knew was there the night before...it was a picture of three flowers _

_ A gardenia  _

_ A lily of the mist  _

_ And a simple daffodil  _

_ All flowers native to the Riverlands.  _

_ As you can imagine my father's reaction was a mixture of shock, fear, and fury. He made the old maester swear that this information would not leave this room and if it did he would personally make sure his right eye ended up as blind as his left.  _

_ Safe to say my secret is safe for now. My father then commanded Luthor to fetch the information on the soulbond between Jaehaerys and Alysanne. To start seeing what this all means. As much as my father tried to reassure me that all will fall in place in time, I can’t stop worrying.  _

_ What will happen to my betrothal with Cerena Baratheon? I feel especially bad since we had fucked behind the --  _

As Lyarra tried to continue to read and keep her face not resembling a tomato, she had to stop since the future bride could hear the first footfalls of the servants getting ready for House Stark’s arrival. Snow quickly hid the book and tried to get some sleep, however it was hard to do so when so many questions lingered in her head and all that she so desired was to keep reading. 

\---

Lyarra tried to calm her breathing, to no avail. 

The Bastard of Winterfell stood at the immediate left of Lady Mormont, as they all lined up to greet her family and the other liege lords and their own kin. All of the Mormont women dressed in their best bearings - similarly to when Lord Glover had come for trade negotiations. However, their ward had defiantly chosen to wear a dress embroidered with Winter Roses. It was her own form of protest, and the only that the bastard knew she could get away with. 

As much as Snow understood that her father had no choice and just as she has, must follow the will of the gods. She can’t help but feel resentful of Lord Stark. Not only did he send her away at the behest of his wife from the only home she has ever known, when the time came for her to marry her father did not even give her the option - no, the simple courtesy - of marrying at Winterfell. As uncharacteristically naive as it sounds, Lyarra had held the hope that when (not ‘if’ she knew, she  _ always  _ knew it would eventually happen) she would wed whomever, it would at least be in the place where her father's family was from. Hence it was a bit of a shock to her when Lord Stark had just ruled that she would get married at Bear Island. 

When Lyarra read the letter with the commands, there were many emotions going about her head, from who would she marry, to how her father found out before she or Maege would have written him, to the mundane comings and goings of having to plan uprooting her whole life in a few moons time. However, now that the dust has settled, and for the most part she is physically prepared for the ceremony and her impending relocation to the Westerlands- Lyarra’s ever whirling mind realized how utterly preposterous it was to have her wedding at Bear Island. The bastard girl considered this her second home, but she doubts her future family was keen on the choice. 

She was marrying into  _ House Lannister  _ for the gods’ sake. The House of the current Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the richest family in said land, and frankly a prosperous match, even if she was to marry the lowliest member of the bloody lot. Didn’t Lord Stark see that a House with such prestige could perceive this as slight? Especially as prideful and vain as their reputation suggests they all are. It was bad enough she wasn’t trueborn. 

Yet, when she tried to air her grievances to her brother Robb, all she got as a response was,  _ “I know this is an emotional time, but Father must have a reason for picking Bear Island. And he has never failed at doing what is best for the North and House Stark.”  _ Which was a typical load of horse shit - but she could not expect anything else from her dear brother. He idolizes their father too much. 

So here she was dressed in symbols tragically associated with Lyanna Stark, to let not only her Father but his own people know that his daughter felt like she was forced to leave the North, without much choice, similarly to her own aunt. 

Suddenly a hand squeeze pulled her out of her thoughts, and she looked up at Lady Mormont who gave her a warm smile and turned her head to the gate. It seemed her family had arrived. 

Lord Stark looked powerful on his horse, thick grey fur coat embroidered with his house sigil, and by the look on his face he had also just noticed what his eldest daughter was wearing, and Eddard did not seem pleased.

Behind him chuckling was the heir of House Stark and Lyarra’s older brother Robb. His auburn hair curled at the ends, and his face still held a bit of the boyish roundness but seem to be smoothing out. However, in that odd age between boyhood and manhood Lyarra noticed that her brother was trying to unsuccessfully grow facial hair similar to their father. It looked like a bald caterpillar had taken home on his upper lip. That alone made her crack a smile. 

Out of all her siblings, she wrote to Arya the most but she had seen Robb the most frequently. As the next Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he had started joining Lord Stark on his diplomatic trips and for the most part Lady Mormont tried to match up hers as well to bring Lyarra to visit her family. 

Behind Robb she could see small hands gripping his leathers, and as fast as the cold winter winds in the middle of a summer snow storm came bounding her favorite sister off the still moving horse.

“Lya! Lya! Lya!”  

“Arya no!” Shouted Lord Stark from his horse. 

Arya repeated her call as her small feet bounded towards her, and just as quickly as she bounded off of Robb’s destrier her little sister tackled her in a hug that made Lyarra lose her balance and fall backward. A grunt and a laugh accompanied the fall as she clutched the smaller girl. She could also hear her foster-sisters laughing on the sidelines as well. 

“I have missed you so much. I have so much to tell you! Did you know that Old Nan told me that a baby can grow scales? I think she is lying but -” 

“Well I have missed you too, Arya. But we can catch up later, I promise,” Lyarra interrupted what she figured would be a long stream of ramblings that would only be interrupted by the occasional breath. 

Ned Stark approached his dark haired daughters and took Arya from Lyarra,  setting her to her feet as Robb scurried behind his father and helped the bastard girl up. As she got up she saw the third member of her family bound out of a carriage. In the four years gone from Winterfell her younger brother Bran had grown like a weed - looking a lot like Robb did at the age of six. 

“Hello, Lyarra,” Bran replied shyly as he partially hid behind their father. 

“Hi, Bran,” Smiled back and held out her arms to invite him to a hug which the boy gladly accepted. 

“My apologies, Lady Mormont,” said Lord Stark to the Mormont matirach. 

“No skin off my back, Lord Stark - I have five of those right here.” Maege replied and pointed to the distance as she guided her daughters to form a circle. “I see that you brought one of the Manderly girls with you,” she noted as she looked back at the carriage  Bran had just exited. 

Sure enough, a girl about Lyarra’s age stood to the side, smiling nervously at the small crowd. The young woman in question had long blond hair that she wore in a braid, Lyarra noticed that the ends of it seemed green, her dress was a color between sea green and turquoise blue and had a scale motif.

“Ah yes. Apologies to both.” Her father then turned to the girl in question and she meekly walked over, “This is Ser Wylis’ youngest daughter Wylla. He sent her over to serve as Lyarra’s lady-in-waiting at Casterly Rock, in hopes that her knowledge of the Seven and of the South will benefit you.” 

Lyarra suddenly felt honored, nervous, and relieved all at the same time. House Manderly was the richest house in the North and White Harbor was the gateway of trade for the area. That meant that Lord Wyman not only trusted House Stark, but had faith that Lyarra would keep Wylla safe and hopefully help relations for trade via the three Houses - something that is as uncommon as a bastard receiving that kind of honor. This also meant she would not be entering the Lion’s Den alone but with a noble lady who was familiar with both the Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods. However, this also put a large amount of pressure on Snow, she now had to make sure that both she and Wylla survived this unknown circumstance of her marriage. Lyarra had a feeling that was easier said than done. 

Lyarra took Robb’s hand and squeezed, he quickly looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile. Ah, so at least she had her brother’s approval.  

“Well, welcome Wylla, House Manderly is always welcome on Bear Island and in our Keep,” said Lady Maege without skipping a beat. “As you know this is my oldest and heir Dacey,” the woman in question gave a graceful curtsey and wicked grin that stretched the numerous freckles on her cheeks, and made her gap more pronounced. 

“Good to see you again Lord Stark and nice to see you Robb.” Which just prompted the heir of the Great House to gulp and smile. It seemed he was still terrified of her, since Dacey beat his arse in hand to hand combat last time they were at Last Hearth. 

“The feeling is mutual Lady Dacey.” Lord Stark responded as Arya interrupted from where her father was holding her by the shoulders in front of him, “You are the one that beat Robb in front of House Umber?” 

That earned Arya a laugh from House Mormont, a firm squeeze and exasperated look from her father, and her younger brother holding in laughs from where he stood in front of her. From the huffing that Snow could hear beside her, Robb was not amused. 

“Arya!” 

Dacey’s smile became even wider “Oh yes, I did!” 

“Awesome,” replied Arya and Lyarra had to roll her eyes. She just knows the older girl is relishing the moment and admiration. However, it made even shy Wylla giggle. 

“Don’t give her too much credit little Lady, my daughter already has a big head,” Maege said between laughs. “Moving on, this is Alysanne my second oldest.” 

“The one who does the whiskey?” asked Lord Stark

“The very same,” replied the young woman, puffing her chest out in satisfaction of being recognized for her hard labor. 

Robb leaned over to Lyarra muttering in her ear, “Can you get me some?” And the bastard whispered back, “Whiskey would lay you out harder than Dacey did.” Which earned her a shove. 

“And this is Lyra.” Who had taken to eyeing the seam work on Wylla’s dress. “The other small terror is Jorelle,” who was making faces towards Bran that made the boy laugh happily. 

“Last but not least, this is little Lyanna, my youngest” the name alone made Lord Stark’s eyes harden and smile grow tense. Yet Lyarra noticed how he seemed to soldier on. 

“Lovely family as expected, Maege. As you know this is Robb, my second son Bran, and as she has made herself known already, my daughter Arya.” Which prompted the girl in question to perk up.  Suddenly Lord Stark let out a breath he had seemed to be holding and without skipping a beat said, “Robb take Bran, Arya, and Wylla and follow Lady Maege to where you will be staying respectively.” 

Ice cold grey eyes suddenly looked towards vibrant amethyst as her father declared, “Lyarra and I have to talk.” 

\---

As father and daughter walked arm and arm into the Godswood, silence fell upon them. Not in a bad way, Lyarra thought, quite the opposite actually. Something that she had always appreciated about the Stark patriarch is how he had a bone deep understanding that not all silences needed to be filled with noise. Some of her earliest memories was curling up in her father's side, away from his wife’s judgemental stares and the constant noise of her half siblings, with a book that she was reading while he worked in his study and the both of them enjoying one another in shared space. 

It wasn’t that Lyarra was necessarily quiet like her father, she can be the center of attention if needed and has never had a particular fear of public speaking, however, she just enjoys  _ listening _ more. 

However, her father slowing down his pace and stopping brought her out of her thoughts, they were standing in front of the heart tree - the very same one she would be exchanging her vows with her bonded in front of. 

“Robb told me you are not happy with me,” Lord Stark said as he walked over to sit in front of the weeping faces, turning his back on her. “He says that you expected to be married in Winterfell and think that you marrying here on Bear Island is an insult.” 

Ned waited for his eldest daughter to respond. Lyarra did not confirm or deny the Warden of the North’s claims, she just kept looking at the ground as she clenched her fists. Anger at her father now spilling over to her brother. 

“So go ahead,” Lord Stark looked at his hands and then back at his daughter, waiting for her to respond. However, she remained silent. 

“Ah, no words now?” Ned goaded her a bit. 

“...You have never cared for what I had to say before. Why should it matter to you now?” replied Lyarra, finally looking at Lord Stark in the eye. Her eyes like fire, deep and alight with passion. “You have always commanded me to do everything. Do you know how utterly frustrating that is ? I know most women do not get a say in their fates, especially not bastards, however maybe a forewarning would suffice. Mayhaps a bit of reasoning for why you decided to do so.” Tears started to form around Snow’s eyes, her voice became shaky. 

“I was utterly terrified when you came in my room when I was just ten and said I was going to Bear Island. I had thought you had finally had enough of the bastard in your household and decided that two daughters were enough.” 

“I thought you loved it here.” Ned said in a steady voice.

“I do, and I cannot deny that this place has made me flourish in ways that probably never would have occurred had I stayed in Winterfell. Yet, it still does not take away how powerless and small I felt-- and, and that was with your bannerman!” tears flowed more freely now, staining her sky blue dress, and Lyarra had to pause to control her breathing. 

“When I woke up with this damn mark, I needed you to listen, to be there, to make me feel like it was going to be okay. But all that I got was cold indifference. You, I needed you to be my da’ but it became clear that you cannot be that anymore.” Lyarra through her tears saw that Lord Stark had put his head in his hands. “I feel like everyone is privy to what is going on in my life but myself. At least let me know when I am being sold like cattle, I ask - no, no I beg you to at least let me know when and how am I allowed to live.” 

“You promised me, you  _ promised  _ that I would always find a home at Winterfell when I left Bear Island. Will that still ring true when I bear the Lannister name and bear the House children? Will you proudly call family those who share blood with the type of people you look down upon?” 

Lyarra’s eyes were so full of tears, her emotions running wild like a flowing river that shatters a dam. Her chest hurt, she felt warm and cold at the same time. Hands shaking, breath ragged, and years of pent up frustration at the forefront are all suddenly quelled when she feels herself being taken off of her feet into a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” said Ned Stark in a quiet voice. “I did promise, and I failed that promise. To you and to your mother.” 

The bastard could not catch a breath and she leaned back from her fathers caring embrace.  _ Mother? My mother?  _ She thought in disbelief. Snow had resigned herself to live and die never knowing who her mother was. 

“My mother made you promise?” 

“Your mother loved you, she died in the birthing bed, but she made me promise to keep you safe and it seems that I have failed”

The bastard’s tears stopped in shock.  _ She loved me, I was loved.  _ Her mother loved her like Lady Catelyn loves her siblings, like Maege loves her daughters, like Jen loves her brood. Love! she was loved! Not given away, not forgotten, but loved. Enough to hand her to her father, to make him swear she would be safe. Whomever her mother was, she was all that Lyarra had wanted. It made her feel a bittersweet learning that she would never get to meet her fabled mother, but it was overridden with pure joy of knowing she was wanted.

A verbal vomit ensued, “What was her name? What was she like? Did you love her? Did she love you? Do I have more fam-” 

“Lyarra.” Lord Stark shook her firmly, “There is a lot I want to tell you but I can’t. The only thing I can say now is that she loved you.” 

“Why? Why can’t you even give me a name?” pleaded Lyarra stepping back and coming back to her senses. 

“When you become a mother yourself, then I’ll tell you all about her,” Ned promised, grabbing and squeezing her right hand where her soulmark was. 

The bastard sensed that she would not get anything else from her father, and pressing him would yield her no new fruits. She took a moment to relish the small information she had received. Her greatest treasure. 

Yet as Lord Stark casually mentioned motherhood in relation to herself, it made Lyarra’s mind whirl wildly and go back to her impending marriage. “Father, I have been meaning to ask you, but I thought it would be more appropriate in person. How did you find out that I had a soulmark before I ever wrote you about it?”

Lord Stark sighed, took a deep breath, and cracked his neck in preparation, “Each soulmark is unique, apparently your bonded has words in dialects from Westrosi to Yi-Tish, but he could make out my name and yours. Hence, House Lannister contacted me and it arrived before Lady Mormont’s did.” 

Lyarra tried her luck one more time and she would come to regret it, “Ah...and who might my Soul Bonded be?” 

“Ser Jaime Lannister” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what y'all thought. BTW this is just me here, I have no Beta (which if anyone is interested please feel free to reach out) and my first language is Spanish. This is just for funnies and a de-stressors, so please mind the grammar mistakes for now. Will take this week and comb through these chapters first few chapters.


	5. Chapter 5 - Jaime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I'm throwing away a timeline, I'm just going to post when I can. 
> 
> However, I have the outline done, it's just I had a massive writers block when it came to Jaime's voice. Hopefully I did him justice. 
> 
> Also looking for a Beta/Editor since I don't have one and I just post all wild and such. So if you are interested please do not hesitate to send a DM. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! I had gun writing this after I found the grove of things. Hopefully I clarified some things and confused you in others.

I’m going to fling myself off of the highest tower in this damn frozen shithole

Ser Jaime Lannister was miserable, angry, and most of all freezing. Right now he has hiding out from his father, Lord Stark and his equally judgemental and slow bannerman in the small room he was given by the She-Bear. Harking back to his childhood, one of those days he would dress up in Cersei’s clothing as she took up his training and he would hide from the blasted septa, Jaime had himself wrapped in furs and wool blankets he had been given. If seen from the outside he looked like a huge lump in the middle of the bed. However this arrangement suited him just fine - it succeeded in the knight’s ultimate goal of avoiding the girl tied to him and responsible for cursing him with the dreaded soulmark. 

The Kingslayer had never imagined he’d wake up with one, for gods sake he was two and nine and these suckers were for bright eyed green boys. The day he’d woken up with pain from his wrist to his elbow the Kingslayer expected to be a good one. The oaf married to his sister was out hunting so most of the Kingsguard and the court had joined the King, his father and brother were in King's Landing, and it had been one of those nights were he could stay beside his sister all through the following morning. 

Yet, around the time when the sky was turning orange and the sun was barely peeking out into the world an intense pain stabbed right through the middle of his forearm, radiating outwards. It felt like the bottom of the seven hells and Jaime even let out an undignified yelp that promptly got him kicked out of the queen’s quarters as punishment. 

However, being the battle tested knight that he was, the Lannister Kingsguard had brushed off the pain as being due to overexertion in the training yard or mayhap just old age catching up to his swordhand. Regardless, he went about his rounds as usual, until around midday and an incident in the yard. He had almost had his sword hand cut off by Lancel. Lancel, who had only just arrived to begin squiring for Robert. He had lost complete control of his sword arm due to blinding pain radiating up and down it. The idiot greenboy panicked and overcorrected, knocking his pommel into his older cousin’s temple, leaving the Kingslayer unconscious.

Jaime doesn’t remember much after that, but he does remember waking up surrounded by Pycelle, Jon Arryn, and his father, all discussing his future as if he were a corpse awaiting the Silent Sisters. 

“He can’t be part of the Kingsgaurd now! Are you really willing to put the realm in disorder because of a Targaryen tradition?” his father seethed at the older Hand. 

“Lord Lannister is right Jon, the Gods have chosen Ser Jaime and unintended consequences happen to those who stand in the way of their will” 

Thinking back on the exchange it sounded like Tywin was comparing himself to the gods and Pycelle was backing that notion. Typical.

“Fine! Fine...I’ll talk to Robert about new recruits for his position. We should also contact Ned as soon as possible.  ”

Just like that, even before Jaime was fully conscious, Lord Lannister and the Lord Hand had come to a consensus to expel him from the Kingsguard, what would be the most pertinent exit strategy, in order to keep it under close wraps from the general public (including, for the good of the realm, his sister), and agreed that two ceremonies by both the Old Gods and the New would ensure that no one would dare protest the union. 

Hence, that is why the Kingslayer was now wrapped up in blankets freezing his arse off on Bear Island awaiting his first marriage ceremony tomorrow. 

When they had written to Lord Stark, he had originally insisted on the ceremony being held at Winterfell among the girls family - she is of my blood and should be married like a Stark in Winterfell - the icy Lord of the North had written. Even his Tully wife had interjected in a separate letter, using her southron courtesy to appeal to his father after she rightly assumed her husband did not play politics - It would be an honor for House Stark and the North to be able to celebrate House Lannister and its future partnership. However Lord Tywin had demanded that it be on Bear Island instead, the time it would waste to head from Casterly Rock to Winterfell would be too great. Gods know his father wanted him married as quickly as possible. Traditions and pride be damned. 

House Lannister knows all too well what can happen if you delay the inevitable when it comes to Soulmarks.

Suddenly a knock on his door made Jaime partially rise from his blanket fort glaring in its general direction, only his face and some strands of golden hair peeking through. His little brother, in every sense of the word, came in looking as visibly cold as Jaime. However, when Tyrion’s mismatched eyes fell on his brother he let out a chuckle.

“Oh how the realm would react to see the fearsome Kingslayer hiding from a girl like she was Balerion the Dread come again!” Tyrion said with a mocking tone, as he sat down next to the pile of blankets that was his brother while pulling out two small meat pies. “You didn’t have to skip supper you know, you wouldn’t have seen your blushing bride to be anyway. Northern traditions dictate the bride cannot leave her chambers until the wedding ceremony. So you decided to starve for nothing” 

Jaime burst out of his fur pile, hair askew and sticking up in all directions, something he normally would hate, he snatched the meat pies from Tyrion’s small hands, and ate them with gusto. “And subject myself to those Northern savages and their thickheaded Lord? No thank you.”

When Jaime went to take his first bite, his loose shirt sleeve fell, leaving his forearm bared to the world. It instantly caught the mismatched eyes of the dwarf and before the older of the two could so much as blink, it was snatched in a strong grip.

“If I was blessed by the gods with such a beautiful riddle, I would spend the rest of my days trying to figure out what it said. But alas!” Jaime knew that there were words unsaid in the air - however as per his usual modus operandi, he did not dwell upon it or push further, sticking to a clever retort instead.. 

“You see it a beautiful riddle, I see it a bothersome problem. Why in the seven hells would the gods put writing on my arm if I can’t fucking read it?!” the marked one exclaimed while pulling his arm away and shoving the last piece of pie in to his mouth. The whole situation left him just as exasperated as it did infuriated.

“Well to be fair, even if it was in Common Tongue it would take you ages to read it,” Tyrion replied. “While I know how much you hate it, you do have to admit it is quite the sight.” 

Indeed it was, Jaime thought sourly to himself. He finally looked down to his mark and he did have to admit it was quite impressive. Starting from his wrist down to his mid forearm, words swirled down his arm in vibrant red and black lettering, words of various dialects. The first few lines were in High Valyrian, after that some seemed to be in the Old Tongue of the First Men, a language that is apparently lost to all but wildlings beyond the wall. Then it stopped abruptly, incomplete. 

However, as Jaime is the unluckiest fool alive, the only two pieces that any common person could decipher were the name of his bonded and Lord Eddard Stark. He had fucking Ned Stark’s bloody name on his body, until he died. Actually, it’d remain even after he died, inked into his corpse until he was naught but dust and worms. Fuck the gods. 

Before leaving King's Landing, Pycelle had mentioned to his father and himself that soulmarks are ever changing and evolving, that most likely the message will be completed as he grows older. Jaime didn’t much care either way, but knowing this, Tywin tasked his youngest son to research what the words could mean as much as possible. It was a hard ask, however Tyrion did decipher some key information. He found that two of the words in High Valyrian meant ‘fire’ and ‘prince’ and also deciphered that some of it was the Old Tongue when an obscure book mentioned a word meaning ‘fight’ that was also located on Jaime’s arm. Apart from that, it had been impossible to know what it says. 

Even before Robert's Rebellion, High Valyrian was mostly reserved for members of House Targaryen (with some Houses like the Daynes and the remaining Valyrian Houses like the Velaryons and Celtigars, also knowing it). However, King Robert ordered the language banned at the beginning of his reign, to such an extreme that even traders from Essos are barred entry if they cannot speak the Common Tongue. Hence, even Tywin decided that the risks were too grand to ask any of the aforementioned houses or hire an Essosi merchant. Marks are private matters and Jaime’s might contain information that could ruin the Lannister name.

The second part of the mark was even more of a lost cause, after the North’s assimilation to the Seven Kingdoms the language was all but forgotten. Apparently some of the Wildings still spoke it, but when would Jaime ever get to the opportunity meet one? Not ever, if he has any bloody say in it. 

“I know we are at a stalemate in knowing what the mark says, but I think it is a poem or a song.” Tyrion said offhandedly, while rummaging through his coat. 

“Really? I never thought you a romantic,” Jaime commented, trying to get the attention away from him and onto his brother. 

“Oh, you know, weddings put me in touch with the blushing maid inside.” The usually drunken dwarf then handed his knightly brother a bottle of something, “Another thing I swiped - the infamous Mormont Whiskey! From what I overheard this isn’t even the good stuff, but it will get grown men to the floor in one or two glasses.”

“I take it you took that as a direct challenge?” 

“You know me so well! I think we both especially need this right now,” Tyrion asserted while popping the cork off the bottle. “Your wallowing for your impending nuptials and my wallowing because this brown drink here has made whores go into retirement!”   
“What a tragedy,” Jaime deadpanned as he grabbed the bottle and took a big swig. It went down his throat in a way that reminded him of hot milk of the poppy. He immediately started coughing. “Seven Hells! That can’t be a drink meant for any man or living creature!” 

“Ah you were always the weakest link when it came to drinking in the Lannister bunch. Let a master take the lead.” 

Jaime’s coughs mixed with unhinged laughter as he watched his little brother’s face contort and turn beet red as the abrasive drink went down his throat. They kept on sharing the bottle the rest of the night, until it was finished, laughing, exchanging barbs, and all in all forgetting what the morrow would bring them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry his soulmark will eventually be deciphered, but you have to strap on and find out as the characters do.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOOO - It's been a minute but not an unproductive one! If you have read the comments on the last chapter - Queen_Lyanna has joined me as a Beta. (*cue applause*) So we have been working on updating the last few chapters and getting up to speed. Very excited to work with them. 
> 
> A key details we did edit - Lyarra is 16 not 14. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks!

It was damp, dark, and cold. As Lyarra took a breath she could feel warmth engulf her whole body, from the center of her chest to the tip of her smallest toe, her mouth especially felt numb and loose.

Scratch, scratch, scratch.

The sound was familiar but magnified, so loud the bastard’s head seemed about to explode. She was in pain, yet under her own feelings Lyarra felt another presence alongside her own thoughts. Instead of pain, the other thing (person?) was annoyed at the sound but also at Lyarra herself.

What was this voice in her head? Was she going mad?  
\----

Lyarra woke up before the break of dawn on her wedding day, with a dry mouth and a cold sweat, and thin limbs wrapped tightly around her midsection. Taking labored breaths that rattled her chest, she gripped her sister’s shoulders as she tried to calm herself. Arya awoke to the turmoil her sister was experiencing.

“...Mmm are you alright?” her youngest sister mumbled sleepily, opening her grey eyes to gaze up to wide violet ones.

“I think so...just a bad dream. I must be nervous.” Lyarra responded and to distract Arya and anymore questions she may ask, she tickled the girl’s sides which made the younger shriek and roll away from her. “Today I’m getting married! Are you excited? That means you get to start your fostering here soon.”

As House Mormont was growing it’s influence in the North, it only seemed natural that House Stark would foster one of their trueborn children, as a sign of favor and good will. Arya was of course the most natural choice out of the five. Lyarra almost snorted in laughter imagining Sansa, the epitome of a southron lady, living with the fierce Mormont women. She’d be scandalized, and all involved would be terribly unhappy. Arya, however, Arya was a perfect fit; she’d thrive at Bear Island.

Her giggles turned into groans as she rolled off her sister, “Do I look like Sansa? Why would I be excited for a wedding?”

“I know, I know. I’m just jesting. However, you should be excited, fostering here is wonderful! I loved it and I am so happy you will get to experience it as well.” Lyarra promised while getting off of the bed and stretching, her long arms extending above her head making her look even taller than she was.

“I am excited but it also feels a bit...I don’t know... sad.” Arya mumbled in a quiet voice back to the bride to be.

Lyarra turned and looked at her youngest sister in surprise, from her experience this type of attitude was quite unheard of from the littlest she-wolf. “Bittersweet, that’s the word you are looking for. That feeling of happiness and sadness. However, why are you feeling that way? Since your earliest letters to me you have been begging father to let you come here.”

“With you! I wanted to be here with you! And now you’re leaving, you won’t even be in the North anymore but the stupid Westerlands, as a stupid Lannister!” Arya cursed, breathing heavily with glassy eyes and erratic breath. “It’s just isn’t fair!”

Lyarra grabbed her sisters face in both of her hands and with purple hued eyes looking at stormy grey “Look at me - breathe. In and out. '' The bastard herself set her breathing in a steady pace and soon the younger of the two matched her. “I know it is not fair. Trust me, if it were my will I would stay here and have all the wonderful adventures you have dreamed up in that head of yours. However, life and the gods rarely gives us what we want.”

The tears started to fall as Arya tried to wiggle out of her sisters grip, but Lyarra didn’t let her go “Yet I know you will have the best of times here and once I am in Casterly Rock I promise you that as you have bared witness through letters to my escapades here, I will certainly bear witness to yours.” The older let’s go of the younger’s face and turns her back. Arya looked upon her confused as Lyarra rummaged through one of her chests on the floor.

“I was going to give this to Dacey to give to you when she thought you’d have earned it. However, now is as good a time as any.” The bastard girl said as she stood up and turned around, holding a thin sword made for small hands.

Arya gasped “Is that for me?” attempting to grab the weapon from Lyarra’s grip, the girl in question quickly sidestepped her sister.

“Yes, however, even if it was made for you this is still a weapon. Weapons are to be treated with care and can cause harm. This is not a toy and if any of the older Mormonts see fit to take it away they are more than in their right to do so. Do you give me your word that you will wield it with honor, grace, and prudence?” Lyarra asked her excited little sister.

“I do, I do!” Arya replied excitedly as her sister put the thin blade in her hands. “I will make you and House Stark proud with this. Like, like Queen Visenya or Princess Nymeria”

“Oh those are quite the women of note right there. You know all legendary swords have names. Are you going to give this one a proper title?” the violet eyed girl asked with a tone of sweet regard.

“Of course!” Yet Arya took a moment to think. As Lyarra expected, she must have dreamed about this moment but never really took into consideration all the formalities that having a blade of her own might come with. “I think...I will call it Needle. Sansa has hers and now I have mine”

“Fine name, for a fine blade” the bastard’s stomach dropped a bit at hearing her other sister’s name. With all the commotion about the wedding ceremony, the Lannisters, and the whole soulmark situation she had quite forgotten to think at length of Sansa. She cannot imagine the redhead took any of these recent developments gracefully. Robb had informed her that she would be joining the Casterly Rock ceremony, as the girl had begged their father to let her go South instead of farther North.

As much as her instinct to overthink things started to set in, her thoughts were interrupted by Arya launching herself towards Lyarra and wrapping herself around the bride to be. Luckily she had set the blade down on the bed first.

“Thank you, this is why you have always been and always will be my favorite”

As the younger Stark girl said that, it seemed Lyarra was now the one with tears forming in her eyes. “I love you too sweet sister and that will never change”

Yet the sisters had to part ways quickly, as the loud knock on the door meant the Mormonts and Jen were outside to get Lyarra ready for the inevitable.

\---

As tradition dictated, Lyarra was given a few moments alone to say a prayer to the Gods for a blessed marriage and good favor for a bevy of children. However, even with evidence that they must evident on her arm, she could not bring herself to give a moment of reverence to the mysterious beings who had derailed what little control of her destiny Snow had thought she had.

Instead she gazed at the woman in the mirror in front of her.

Lyarra barely recognize herself, for as long as she could remember she had worn simple styles of hair and garb. Initially peddled by Lady Stark as a reminder of her station and to make her blend into the walls of Winterfell as much as possible, her palette mostly consisted of greys and browns most of her daily life. Only really dabbling in soft blues and greens once she arrived on Bear Island, and even then that was only really reserved for visitors and special occasions. However, she will have to get used to it, the servants that had bought up her food last night let Lyarra know that the Lannisters would even consider this Wedding dress homely compared to the pomp and circumstance that they had exhibited.

She could admit to herself she did look quite beautiful today. The dress that Jen had lovingly created suited her well. It was a regal snow white, an unusual color to see worn in the North since it is so prone to stain, with dagged sleeves that exposed her arms for ceremonial purposes and a “key-hole” back (Jen swore it is a popular emerging style in the South and that it will inspire a bit of daring to her husband to be) were the only skin below her face visible, the rest was covered in fabric. From the neck to her her mid thighs it hugged her form and then it elegantly fanned out to a train. Winter roses from buds to blooms made out of blue velvet covered the whole dress in artful ways making it seem like Lyarra herself produced them as she moved. As a last detail the same blue velvet that Jen used for the flowers was used by Lyra to tie her hair back up in a Northern crown braid bun, which pulled the last remaining plump of her youthful face back. Making her cheekbones sharper and overall making her look older than the bastard actually was.

Dreaming of ever looking this way was not a luxury anyone except highborn and trueborn ladies got, so looking at herself this way was bizarre to the bastard. Almost like an imposter had taken her place, who was this woman because she could not be Lyarra? Was this the woman that the Lannisters wanted? If so, would she live her life with the feeling that she is not worthy, not herself?

Even with these questions swirling through her head, a small part of Lyarra thoroughly enjoyed how she looked.

A knock on the door pulled the bride out of her thoughts, the familiar creak of footsteps entering the room made her suddenly and incredibly sad. This would be her last time in this room, her last time with complete independence, and the last time she might feel truly like Lyarra Snow ever again.

“Are you ready?” Lord Stark asked his eldest daughter. As Lyarra stood up from her chair at the vanity, she saw her lord father looking quite regal but understated. He was wearing his House colors of grey with a subtle wolf motif on them and his nicer wolf pelts around his shoulders.

“As I will ever be.” replied the bride. Then she hissed out, “Damn,” as she grabbed her exposed forearm.

“Are you alright?” her father asked in concern, stepping closer towards her.

“Yes, Maester Rolf warned me this might happen. It’s just the mark expanding, not a pain I will be unfamiliar with,” Snow replied, cradling her forearm close to her chest. Ned looked apprehensive but did not press further, half out of confusion and half out of wanting to respect his eldest daughters wishes.

“You look nice.”

Lyarra smiled, knowing her father wanted to get her mind off of the pain.

“I have something for you,” he continued, surprising her.

Ned pulled out a simple ring from his doublet, it was small, delicate and silver, it was in the shape of a wolf biting its own tail.

“Wouldn’t this be better for Sansa or Arya?” Lyarra asked her father.

“Lady Stark will give them their own trinkets she inherited from her mother when they wed. However, this was once worn daily by sister and also my mother, your namesake, before her passing. I’m sure both would have liked you to have it.”

The bastard of House Stark was rendered speechless, her father rarely talked about his own mother and never about his sister. So it was touching that he had chosen her out of all his daughter to give the keepsake. It may not be of great monetary value, but because of who wore it before her it was priceless to House Stark.

Lyarra took the ring and slipped it on her index finger of her right hand, as she was left handed, she wanted to make sure the ring did not fall to misuse by putting it on her dominant hand.

“Thank you so much, I will cherish it.” she told her father as she gave him a kiss on his bearded cheek.

\---

Before she could even process it, her father had ushered her out of Mormont Keep and unto the entrance of the Godswood. Many of the servants and smallfolk of the island stood outside small wooden carvings bowing and giving their blessings as Lyarra and Lord Stark passed them by. Only the members of noble houses and those who came with the Lannister party were allowed in the Godswood proper, however, it warmed Lyarra’s heart to see some of her friends and students. She even peaked a glimpse of Thom and Jen with their brood in the very front, both looking proud and pleased.

As they went deeper into the Godswood, members and representatives of the various Northern Houses, like the Umbers, Glovers, Cerwyns, and Karstarks became visible. Lyarra even recognized some knights of various Westerland houses like Marbrand, Lefford, and Crakehall by their sigils but apart from that most were completely foreign to her. The bastard made a note to read up more on the Houses and when introduced to the people to remember their names. The heads of each house carrying lanterns, making the Godswood glow in warmth.

At the front of her side of the ceremony were the Mormonts and Lady Wylla, the formers were dressed in various hues of greens and bear pelts while the latter wore a dress with scale motifs in her houses colors. Lady Mormont, who was seated in front of her daughters with the Starks, had even donned a dress for the occasion. To the left of Lady Meage was Arya, dressed in Stark grey with her hair pulled back in a northern bun, she seemed to be scowling at the groom. Beside her was her brother Bran who seemed to be in awe of all the knights, but especially gawking openly at the Kingslayer. He looked like a miniature version of Robb who was standing beside an empty space meant to symbolize Lyarra’s mother. He looked proud in his House colors with his head up high and his curls framing his face like a crown.

_Gods Robb, try to look less constipated._

On the other side of the Godswood, Lord Tywin Lannister, Warden of the West and father of the Queen, looked fearsome. He wore mostly black but the proud golden lion (not dissimilar to the one on her arm) was emblazoned on his chest. However, Lord Lannister seemed to be openly scowling at his eldest son, his ears and the back of his head seemed red with anger. The youngest and smallest of the Lannister brothers, The Imp, had an infamous reputation of being a drunkard and a lech. From what Lyarra saw of him in the moment, he seemed to be living up to one of those titles since he seemed visibly hungover.

Lord Stark squeezed her arm as they walked up to the Heart Tree, she could feel all the eyes on her now. Some in judgement, some in admiration, some in derision, but most just in indifference.

Lyarra avoid glancing at her bride-groom, instead concentrating on the Heart tree. The Lovers mocked them as the two weeping faces seemed concentrated on each other. As if the tragedy is theirs to experience and not hers.

Once in front of the heir to House Lannister she finally looked at her groom. The first thing that she noticed was how heartbreakingly handsome he was. Like a knight from one of Sansa’s fantasies, Jaime Lannister was as comely as the rumors and tales professed. With his hair of beaten gold, that framed a chiseled jaw, and sharp cat-green eyes. He was a tall man with the build of a warrior and the stance of one too. This is what a King should look like.

Yet with her trained keen eyes, she noticed the bags under his eyes and she smelled the distinct aroma of whiskey and vomit. He was just as hungover as his brother. Well that explains Lord Lannister’s rage.

Controlling her face, Lyarra understood the importance of first impressions. It was the first time that any of her future House and a handful of future subjects laid eyes on her. The Kingslayer could play the fool if he wanted, but a bastard would never be afforded that luxury. So she set her face in a neutral and seemingly happy expression. Even if she felt like taking a branch and whacking her soul-bonded upside the head.

“We gather here today for the union of a soul-bonded pair, as chosen by the Old Gods they now present themselves to be united by blood in front of them today.” Usually the head or the next oldest male of the groom’s family preceded the ceremony. However, since she was marrying a Southron it was Lord Stark who had the honor of marrying his daughter to the Kingslayer. Since the pair was a soulmarked one, a variety of changes are to be made to the ceremony, a key aspect that she was thankful for. The usual ceremony would emphasize giving her away like cattle, this ceremony - the first one done in 500 years - would put Lyarra and her groom in equal footing even if it was morbid.

“Are there any objections?” the only sound that responded was the soft crackling of blood red leaves of the Weirwood.

“Lyarra” another break from tradition, it was usually the groom who went first but once again they had to teach Ser Jaime through example. Snow looked at her father and saw the ceremonial dagger in his hands, it was made out of a glassy black material and it was mostly rarely used in the North. Lyarra then took it in her hand and then took the Kingslayer’s hand where the mark surely laid as he had been clutching it. By the expression on his face he seemed alarmed and tried to wretch his hand out of hers, however the bride was quicker and she slashed a hollow line across his palm. Enough to draw blood and create a shallow scar but not enough to actually cause any serious damage.

This caused Jaime to hiss out and glare at this bride, this in turn made Lyarra smirk a bit.

However, always cognizant of duty, the bride held out her hand and the dagger towards Ser Jaime. Which he grabbed both firmly and also slashed the palm of her left hand, a bit slower pace as retribution for her pleasure in his own pain. Lyarra silently winced as her palm was sliced open and the blood of both her hand and that of her groom dripped down her arm, staining a bit of her dress.

“And now the couple shall pay tribute to the Old Gods in blood together” Lord Stark then took both of their bloody hands and put Lyarra and Jaime’s palms to one Weirwood face each, completing the marriage ceremony.

“May pain teach these two to become one, and may the scars remind them that only each other can they depend on. Blood of blood, family now and evermore.” Lord Stark then proceeded to join their hands then guide them to walk out of the Godswood together.

Sensing that her new husband was confused to say the least, Lyarra nudge him along and said in a low voice, “Just follow me.”

“If it will get me out of here and close to the nearest wine glass then I’ll be sure to follow you forever” Jaime replied whispered sarcastically back but graciously walked beside her.

“Are you sure you can handle another glass Ser Jaime? You are lucky the ceremony did not involve any vows, everybody would have realized you cannot handle a bit of a drink. What a man of legend you are indeed” Lyarra whispered back, her anger, her nerves, and the overall exasperation towards the heir of the Westerlands loosening her usually reserved tongue and courtesy.

“Here I thought that I’d just be saddled with a simple bastard but I get the added bonus of her being a clever pain in my arse as well. Lovely.” Ser Jaime replied with such utter vitriol that it snapped Lyarra out of any of the bold inclinations that had clouded her judgement. So instead of replying back she smiled back at her new husband, turned her head, and kept walking towards the Keep

\---

After silently gritting and drinking her way through the utter disappointment at her husband and soul bonded through her ceremony, she was now with the handsome idiot in their marriage chambers getting their palms stitched up by Measter Rolf. The newlyweds had their wounds disinfected as soon as they entered the Keep, but Lord Lannister had insisted in stitching them up and giving the wounds a once over. As she was the Maesters favorite, Lyarra was stitched up first which lead her in her chemise, to lean upon the bedpost observing the Kingslayer get his wound looked at as she sipped some wine.

Seated across the Maester the Kingslayer was hunched over, his right elbow on his knee and his other hand supporting his waist. Jaime had already taken his outer layers off and only wore his white undershirt. Which meant that his forearm was exposed to both Lyarra and the Maester.

His mark was much more interesting than hers, Lyarra thought to herself. From the angle she was looking at it, the mark seemed to be a mass of swirling letters all in different scripts. She recognized her own name and her father’s, which she knew were already there. But Snow, now Lannister I guess, saw some words in Old Tongue. Namely the words, ‘Ice’ ‘fight’ and ‘bastard’. Some were in Valyrian, which since reading Duncan’s journal she could recognize it written, yet the words on her husbands arm were yet to be mentioned in the dairy. The rest seemed like gibberish to her. However, Lyarra was not the only one to notice Jaimes souldmark.

“How fascinating! You may be the first recorded case of a soul image containing words!” exclaimed Rolf excitedly, however when he tried to grab Ser Jaime’s arm he was rudely pushed away.

“Don’t touch me! Leave you pest before I make sure you have no hand to grab me again.” the Kingslayer said in a huff as he stood up and turned towards a vanity where the wine and was set.

Avoiding anymore rude behaviour from her Lord husband, Lyarra quickly stepped in and ushered the Maester out of the room. Quickly mouthing her apologies for him, however, it was not the first time Rolf had dealing with haughty highborns. So he winked at her, as to almost say ‘no worries dear.’

As Lyarra closed the door, the new cause for a perpetual headache’s voice rang across the room.

“So are you going to lecture me about manners? Oh no, I think you have a witty comment up your sleeve that you are just dying to throw at me.” He chugged the last of the arbor red. “Let make something very clear wife,” Jaime made the word sound like it was dirt on his tongue. He was drunk, drunker than the night before it seemed.

“I will never love you, I will never like you. The only times I will ever come to your bed and fuck you will be when my father holds me at sword point for some stupid heirs. Mind you, when you whelp a healthy boy or two - you will be nothing for our House, sweet tits. No one will care if you were chosen by the Gods, because House Lannister doesn’t give a single shit about them. Hell if it doesn’t give a shit about me, what will it care about a bastard girl from the North?” he now walked closer to his soul bonded.

“Because let me tell you something, pretty eyes. I have seen some shit and I have lived through some shit. Not the first time I have had to sacrifice for this fucking family, say some vows for this family. First for Cersei, now for dear old Father again.” Jaime now had Lyarra pressed against the door. “Because you see Lady Lannister you will die before you whelp some little kiddies and if you do see that day - you will never be safe.”

Lyarra glared directly into his feral eyes, his hot and disgusting breath heavy on her face. Without a second thought and consequences she spit in his face.

With eyes shut and no movement from the Kingslayer, the rush of adrenaline that was there a second ago was slowly setting in as panic. Why am I such an fucking idiot, he clearly has me cornered. She started to scan the room for an exit strategy and a weapon. The new Lady Lannister theorized she could probably knee him in the groin, and while he was down, then she could grab the iron rod for the fire and --

Then Ser Jaime stepped back, wiped his face, and proceeded to laugh hysterically. Leaving his soul bonded confused but relieved.

“Oh this marriage will be quite interesting indeed,” he laughed as he stumbled to the bed and unceremoniously fell asleep. Lyarra did not move an inch until she heard unceremonious snores leave the unconscious knight.

_I think you just posed a new challenge, Kingslayer._


End file.
